


Supernatural drabbles, exactly 100 words each - rated PG to R

by loveinadoorway



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Multi, Slash, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:23:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinadoorway/pseuds/loveinadoorway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disclaimer: wish they were mine, but then, don't all us little perverts?<br/>Rating: PG to R?<br/>Spoilers: Obviously S4 to S6, as Cas is in them<br/>Genre: slash<br/>Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas; Sam/Lucifer<br/>Warnings: angst, slash, language, booze, the one hand clapping but not in all of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Supernatural drabbles, exactly 100 words each - rated PG to R

**Hot water**

Hot water was running all over his body, rivulets of steaming goodness caressing his tired, aching muscles, little droplets dripping from his lashes and nose. He was leaning forward, into the spray and his hand closed firmly around his cock. He was pumping himself leisurely, thumb sliding across the slitted head, pleasure mounting slowly as his grip tightened and his rhythm sped up.  
It was hard to keep focused, hard to keep the dying world out for even a short period of respite.  
Blue eyes made him go over the edge as the name was rent from his lips.  
Castiel.

**The fall**

The droplet hung in the balance for a long time, before it made its way down the man's face.  
He was past caring, past hiding his grief and so made no move to wipe it away. He watched his lover's wings being wrenched from his body, leaving a bloody mess behind. He watched as they ripped the grace out of Cas. He watched, unable to help, unable to stop this act of barbary.  
He watched, unable to stop himself from feeling joy mingling with his grief.  
This way, they had a future.  
And Dean hated himself for thinking like that.

**Forgiveness**

He did what he had set out to do.  
As always, once his mind was made up, he'd follow through, no matter what.  
The angel had asked if the dawn of the Apocalypse was the right time for this, but had conceded when Dean had asked "When, if not now?"  
He had taken Dean to the graveyard and now watched from a little distance as his human placed some small, purple wild flowers on his mother's grave, then turned around, picked a leaf from his bracelet and said to the adjacent plain headstone inscribed 'John':  
"I forgive you, you bastard."

**Deft hands**

He was watching the deft hands play over his abdomen.  
If he were an artist, he'd be able to draw them from memory, down to the last crease, the last hair. As it was, he was just watching.  
The ring on his thumb slid across Castiel's navel and the bracelet tickled his tummy.  
He marveled at the way Dean kept finding new ways of touching him. He sighed as his wings unfolded.  
Seconds later, his hip arched off the bed when Dean's thumb pressed down on the sensitive tip of his wing , a wicked grin on his lover's face.

**That ring thing**

Rings.  
Castiel pondered their highly symbolic nature.  
Eternity, fidelity, love.  
Rings bound people to each other or to a faith, an idea, an organization, maybe.  
Rings expressed meaning and made statements about fashion or the lack thereof.  
Rings.  
He ran his finger lightly over the one that encircled his beloved’s thumb, wondering which, if any, of these things might apply to it.  
Rings.  
Dean watched Cas.  
The angel let his fingers play over the ring on his thumb, expression unreadable and Dean wondered what his angel was so preoccupied with.  
Rings.  
Surely, Cas couldn’t be thinking about THAT, could he?

**a real dead ringer for love**

Dean was playing with his ring.  
That meant, Castiel had learned, that his human was emotionally distressed.  
Cas tilted his head and asked: “What is wrong, Dean?”  
“Nothing.”  
Another thing Castiel had learned about his human was that it was never ‘nothing’, so he kept pressing until Dean finally caved in.  
“What’s going to happen after we’ve stopped the Apocalypse?”  
“Life… goes on,” said Cas in his most gravelly voice, not comprehending at all what Dean was driving at.  
“No. To us, Cas.”  
“I don’t know. I have always been partial to Kentucky. How do you feel about breeding horses?”

**007**

Castiel handed Dean a ring, expression grave.  
“Takes this ring and guard it with your life.”  
“What’s it do?” asked Dean, turning the white gold band in his fingers, letting it dance over them in a magician’s twirl.  
Castiel grabbed Dean’s wrist and looked sternly at the human.  
“This is not a toy, Dean Winchester,” growled the angel forbiddingly.  
“Okay, point taken. Now tell me what it does already!”  
“It can shoot rays of Divine light, which will instantly kill any demon in its path.”  
“Wow, cool, I’ll be like James Bond, then!” Dean said with awe in his voice.

**247**

He turned his ring full circle, then took a pull from the bottle of rotgut whisky that never left his side.  
After the burning in his throat subsided, he turned the ring again.  
Repeat ad infinitum, ad nauseam.  
He’d turned the ring exactly 247 times since Chuck the prophet had pulled Jimmy’s molar from his hair.  
247 full turns of his ring since finding out that Castiel had died in an explosion of Jimmy’s meat and bones. Too much whisky, yet not ever enough to soften the blow.  
247 full turns of the ring since his hope and joy died.

**Behold**

He had seen the millennia come and go with these eyes.  
He had seen civilizations grow and wither, had seen the mighty fall and the poor get rich.  
He had seen wars, epidemics and crazes spread and vanish again and again.  
He had seen the vastness of the universe and the greatness of nature.  
He had seen the beauty of man and beast alike.  
Yet here he stood, transfixed and tongue-tied in the face of a single tear running down a man’s cheek. Here he stood and a pair of green eyes wiped everything else from both view and memory.

**blue met green**

Blue met green, defenses down.  
Nothing mattered anymore, beyond the world reflected in each other’s eyes.  
The outside world was crumbling, dying; the violent spasm of its death throes kept them busy and bleeding.  
The only hope to be found was right here, staring into each other’s eyes while Lucifer laid the world to waste.  
Blue met green, beyond rhyme or reason.  
At the end of days, nothing mattered but love, pure and simple. Hope remained while they had each other.  
Their chances to stop Lucifer were slim, but they would try, fuelled by the world in each other’s eyes.

**Certainty**

The eye was staring straight at Lucifer.  
It was the only thing the angel could still move. The other one was swollen shut, maybe damaged beyond repair. Arms and legs were fixated to the gurney and after hours of slicing and hacking, he wasn’t sure if he could still move them if he had a chance.  
He wasn’t sure if his vessel was salvageable, he wasn’t sure if his Grace was still intact, or his faith. He wasn’t even sure if he was still sane.  
But he was sure of one thing with absolute certainty.  
Dean Winchester would save him.

**Life stands still and stares**

It’s the painful truth that you cannot really revisit the pleasures of your youth.  
On the upside, you also cannot really revisit its pains.  
So Dean is caught between painful nostalgia of half-remembered fun and relief at not being left underfed and underfunded, trying to scrounge up some nickels so Sammy could ride on the chair-o-plane.  
Castiel, on the other hand, enjoys his first carnival ride with wild abandon. He throws back his head, laughs and spreads his arms wide, trying to catch Dean’s hand one swinging seat across from him.  
They fly together into the brightly lit night sky.

**Luck just kissed you hello**

The lights of the carnival were reflected in a puddle.  
Dean stared at the wobbling reflection. He felt cut off from the fun all the other people seemed to be having, alone with his pain, his rage and his despair.  
Suddenly, he heard the familiar rustling sound that always heralded the arrival of his angel.  
Castiel put a hand on Dean’s shoulder and – saying nothing – just squeezed lightly.  
A single touch shouldn’t have the power to change anything, but the gentle squeeze held a whole volume of meaning and Dean’s heart grew light with the knowledge that his angel cared.

**Candy floss**

Dean watched the people milling about the carnival with envy.  
They knew nothing about demons, angels, the apocalypse and what it really meant when they wished someone would go to hell.  
Sometimes, he couldn’t help but wish he were clueless like that. Just to relax like they did, just to enjoy the rides, games and the food and all that.  
When then green bile of envy threatened to overcome him, that was when his angel found him.  
Found him with some pink candy floss in his hand like a sacrificial offering.  
Dean took all his angel was willing to give.

**Reverie**

Dean looked out of the window of his motel room. The carnival lights where casting flickery, ghostly shadows over the parking lot.  
Suddenly, he felt like a little boy again. Felt the acid burn of disappointment as his dad refused to take them to where the fun was. The feeling of yet again being apart from anyone else, anyone normal.  
There was a firm hand on his shoulder and Dean relaxed into his angel’s arms.  
Castiel’s breath caressed his ear, as the angel said: “Would you like me to take you on a rollercoaster ride?”  
“Yes, please.”  
Dean smiled contentedly.

**taking a ride on a cosmic train**

It was the one good memory of a childhood spent largely alone in dingy motel rooms.  
Dad had taken them to the amusement park, bought them candy floss and they went on the merry-go-round. Dean had wanted the rollercoaster, but Sammy had been scared.  
He wrenched open the control panel and started the merry-go-round.  
He had to run to make it to the horse next to his angel.  
Castiel looked at the lights and the animals with a weird mix of puzzlement and awe. As the speed increased, he smiled and closed his eyes, holding his hand out to Dean.

**The word is that the hunted one is out there on his own**

When he was still fighting, he could feel the ropes chafing his skin raw.  
When he was still fighting, he could feel the back of the chair dig painfully into his back.  
When he was still fighting, he noticed the light bulb’s gentle swaying.  
When he was still fighting, he noticed the glint in his captor’s eyes as his blood flowed freely.  
Now he hung, a lifeless ragdoll flung on a chair, held upright by the bonds he used to fight so hard.  
But he would not call his angel down for them.  
No matter what they did to him.

**Talk to me, don’t talk to me**

The angel came to him in a flurry of wings and cool air.  
The angel cut the ropes that bound him to the chair and tended to his wounds.  
The angel took him out of the hellish place of torture and told him everything would be alright, if only he would have faith.  
The angel kissed his lips and worshipped his body.  
The angel whispered sweet words of healing into his ears and into his barren soul.  
The angel would never know how broken he remained after all these wonderful, pure, angelic ministrations.  
And Dean would never tell his angel.

**The darkness**

“Why do you love me?”  
“You don’t understand. You will never understand.”  
The ropes chafed his wrists and ankles and he was bleeding from a multitude of cuts. He could feel the life seeping from him and he was cold to the marrow.  
The monster cut him again, its black eyes narrow slits of rage. Not long now and it would finally be over. He would take his love to the grave with him.  
Another cut, deeper than before. Too deep.  
He couldn’t understand what had happened, how his lover had changed into this.  
“Cas, please…” was Dean’s final whisper.

**Like the video films we saw**

Dean ran a hand over the stiff wing.  
Castiel shuddered.  
Dean dragged Cas from the chair and led the helpless angel to the bed.  
He pushed the angel down hard on the mattress.  
It was what Cas had asked for and Dean couldn’t refuse. Being at the mercy of his human, blindfolded, gagged and bound, that is what he had wanted.  
Dean entered Cas slowly, the responsibility of being the one in charge, of being the aggressor weighing down heavily on him as he drove them towards release.  
In the final throes, he removed the gag.  
“Dean!” cried his angel.

**The thing across the room**

The thing across the room kept staring at him.  
He watched its every move, hunter’s instincts honed.  
It had bitten its nails down to the quick, the knuckles were raw and bleeding. He could see that in the spot where he had hit it, a bruise was forming already.  
The thing stank of booze.  
It kept staring and staring until he was sure it would attack.  
He threw himself forward with a yell.  
But the bastards had chained his straightjacket to the wall, so all he could do was howl out his hatred, frustration and pain at the thing across the room.  
It still did nothing, kept staring at him.  
The raw emotions in its green eyes were growing stronger and stronger until they spilled over onto its cheek in a single hot tear that trailed down to the edge of its mouth.  
Then it got up and walked out of the room with the iron walls.

**Stolen**

Whenever Castiel wasn’t looking, Dean was mapping his body, committing it to memory.  
He was learning his angel by heart, knowing they were living on borrowed time.  
He knew they would take Cas from him as soon as the apocalypse was averted.  
They were humoring him so he would follow through and play his part.  
Allowing him to steal some happiness from his angel until they no longer needed him.  
Every moment with Cas was a victory, so when the clock’s red digits flipped to 5:20, he was counting this as one more night wrestled from the grasp of Fate.

**Moment of truth**

In his heart, he knew. He had known all along.  
He was in love with the angel of Thursday.  
He hadn’t admitted it to himself, of course, until this moment, when he caught himself watching the ratty old alarm clock on the nightstand of yet another nightmarish motel room .  
He watched the red digits change and knew precisely how many days, hours and minutes it had been since he last saw his angel.  
The name threatened to spill from his lips, but he bit it back violently. A man could be thrown back into the pit for less.  
Castiel.

**She**

“Oh, come on baby, what’s wrong with you?”  
A quick glimpse at the clock told Dean it was getting late and still his baby wouldn’t stir. Not a sound from her beautiful engine. He had coaxed, he had cajoled, she remained silent.  
“I fail to see how talking to the car will help with the repair,” Castiel said, with one of his aggravating chin lifts.  
“She knows me. She listens to me. Sometimes, she needs… encouragement.”  
Cas walked up to the Impala, placed his palm on her hood and said: “Will you please stop giving Dean so much grief?”  
RRRRROAAARRRRR.

**Dusk**

It was a fine morning to die.  
Only there was nothing further from Dean’s mind at this point than dying. He didn’t want to get up and stand up for all things good and holy in the face of the apocalypse. He wanted to stay right here, wrapped around his angel, warm and comfortable in the soft light of dusk.  
He didn’t want to stare the devil in the eye today. He wanted to learn five new things about pleasing Cas, instead.  
Then the alarm clock switched to 5:20, Castiel stirred and Dean knew his time to dream was up.

**Left to their own devices**

It was afternoon.  
Dad should have been home by that time. That time three days ago, actually.  
No food in the house. No food for Sammy. He swallowed hard and went to do the needful.  
He got up from his knees and accepted the twenty the balding guy pressed in his palm. He would rinse his mouth with his dad’s whisky when he got back. And swallow. Again.  
The angel stood in the shadows of the alleyway, amidst the smell of urine and stale booze. There were tears running down his face. His orders said not to interfere.  
He obeyed.

**inspired by Bowie, 5:15 Angels have gone**

There was a "because" in here somewhere, Dean thought, only he was too stinking drunk to remember. Which probably was a good thing. He stumbled and steadied himself against the wall. He was bleeding. Naturally. He was always bleeding these days. Too many fights, too much booze, not enough sleep make Dean a bleeding wreck. He snorted. Fuck it all. Someone would put him out of his misery one of these nights. Preferably sooner rather than later. Because… He lurched towards the Impala. The watch on the dashboard said 5:15. The because was swimming around in his brain. Getting more persistent every minute. Not even the booze could shut it up for more than a few hours.  
Because his angel had gone.

**The world can wait**

It was a piece of cake, really. All he would have to do was stop the Prince of Darkness, get his brother back and keep his angel safe in the process, while defeating a demon army as he went. World saved, end of story, everyone lives happily ever after.  
Yeah, right.  
Dean tossed and turned, unable to sleep.  
An arm snaked across his abdomen, pulling him close to his companion.  
Castiel nuzzled Dean’s neck and whispered: “I can keep myself safe.”  
“Dude, what did I tell you about listening in on my thoughts? Rude, Cas, just plain rude.”  
“You are practically shouting, Dean. And it was my intention to take at least one item off your list. If you entrust me with your brother’s safety, that would get rid of another one.”  
“Cas…”  
“Shhhh, Dean, sleep now. You need your rest.”  
The angel started to caress Dean’s tummy. His angel.  
The world could maybe wait until daybreak to be saved.

**Topsy-turvy Challenge**  
Chosen concept: Daddy died, Mom  & kids went hunting. Extra topsy: Winchester Sisters

Deanne ran towards the ghost, shotgun at the ready. It was not a good hunt, not at all. Not going well, even by a long stretch of the imagination.  
And the fact that Samantha had dropped their salt in the river as they ran wasn't helping, either.  
They had been so long in this game that they were now improvising as they went and at least had managed to stay alive so far.  
Ever since their father had died, they had been on the run, hunting with their mother, fighting evil. A real deal family business, last of generations of hunters.  
Still, they had botched this shit up, thought Deanne.  
"Sammy!" she yelled over at her sister, "another one, incoming at 11:00!"

**Xmas in July Challenge**  
Chosen line from xmas song: Let your heart be light

Yeah, right, as if it ever would.  
Dean ran his hand through his hair, then over his chin, just like he always did when something bothered him.  
Sam thought he was going to die. It had taken him weeks to find the perfect gift. He had thought Dean would get a good laugh out of it.  
Fluffy white slippers with angel wings and little golden halos.  
Because of the whole "gripped tight and raised from perdition" shit.  
And now Dean looked good and ready to just break down. Castiel was gone and Sam had rubbed it in the worst way.

**Saturday picture challenge**  
picture: boulders in a lake

"Am I dead?" asked Sam softly.  
"No. Just parked."  
"Parked?"  
"Yes. Until the apocalypse has finished."  
Sam sat down on one of the boulders. The sun had given it a pleasant warmth and it's rough surface was like sandpaper under his hands. It was peaceful here. It had been so long since he had last been at peace.  
"It's nice, I like it."  
"Well, it's the least I can do for you while I use your body to lay your world to waste." chuckled Lucifer.  
Sam could feel the devil's breath on his neck. He should be scared, but strangely enough he was totally calm.  
"I would have thought you would exile me to hell or at least something like it."  
"But Sam, I wouldn't be where I am now without your help. Without your very valuable and very thorough help."  
Lucifer vanished, but his laughter stayed behind, ringing in Sam's ears as he broke down and started hitting the boulders with his bare hands until the blood and the pain made peace return.

**And the SPN Writers’ Lounge drabble challenge theme was...**  
Solitary...what if other decisions had been made?

**Insubordination**

He paused, hand on the heavy iron door.  
He had his orders, so why did he hesitate?  
What did it matter that he doubted them, what did it matter that he thought them wrong?  
It mattered because of what it would do to the world, it mattered because of what it would do to Dean.  
Castiel withdrew his hand. As he turned from the door, he walked his first steps as a renegade. He walked up the narrow staircase, accompanied by Sam’s hoarse screams from Bobby’s panic room. He had chosen his side in the coming struggle. It felt good.

**Djinn and tonic**

He pushed the lawnmower around and did the next perfectly straight line across the lawn. There would be a cold drink and a hot brunette waiting for him inside when he was done. Tomorrow morning, he would go to work, doing the job he loved. Normal, safe, satisfying. And then he would go back home and she would be waiting for him there.  
He knew he was dying, alone in the dark somewhere, right at this moment, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He embraced the lie, walked away from the pain that waited there, alone in the dark.


End file.
